Sunflower Lane (12 page)

She hugged him tight, her pulse finally slowing from the heat of Wes’s kisses. “Well, the clue hasn’t been found, not
in all these years. It could be anywhere on that mountain—if the story’s even true. And Big Jed could have moved the treasure someplace else after that—if he ever really had it. There’s no proof that there even
was
a treasure, Ethan, or that one of his partners didn’t take it and hide it someplace else. It could be up in the Crazies or the Absarokas or at the bottom of Blackbird Lake for all we know.”

Ethan struggled to smother a yawn. “Naw. I’m sure it’s somewhere near Coyote Pass,” he insisted sleepily.

Hugging him again, she smoothed her fingers through the unruly cowlick of his hair. “We’ll talk about it more tomorrow. You need to get some sleep. No more reading until morning, promise?”

By the time she tucked him back into bed, and left his door half-ajar, Wes was no longer downstairs in the living room. She realized that he’d let himself out the door and was standing on the porch, one big hand resting on the railing as he stared out into the night full of stars.

She joined him, quietly closing the screen door behind her. Fields full of crickets hummed and sang in the darkness, but she paid no attention. She was focused on how broad his shoulders were, how darkly handsome he looked silhouetted against the inky sky. And remembering with a wonderful shiver how his mouth had felt as it intimately explored hers, how his eyes had softened when he pulled her closer, so close that the more he kissed her, the more they felt like one . . . joined by their mouths so close together, by the delicious heat and tension of her body pressed up against his, by something elusive she couldn’t quite put her finger on. . . .

She walked toward him as he turned to face her.

“Ethan all right?”

With a smile, she wrapped her arms around herself as a sudden cold gust blew down from the mountains and her silky top fluttered. “Aside from being treasure-hunting crazy, Ethan’s fine.”

A grin touched his lips. At the same time, a wolf gave a far-off howl in the darkness—a wild, lonely sound—reminding her how far she was from town, how isolated. Much closer to prairie and mountains than to Lonesome Way.

“All little boys dream of finding treasure.” Reaching out, he stroked his fingers through her curls. For a moment those green eyes lingered on her face; then his gaze dropped to her mouth, and a shiver of electricity spiked through her.

She thought he might kiss her again. She hoped he would. But his hand dropped to his side.

“You’ll need to be up early tomorrow. I should say good night.”

Disappointment pinged through her. Some part of her wished he would stay. The foolhardy part.

“Thanks for . . . what you did back there.” She shook the vestiges of Tobe’s ugly words and contemptuous sneer away. “I appreciate your defending my honor,” she said as lightly as she could.

“Anytime, Annabelle. You know where to find me.” His slow smile lit something wild and yearning inside her. Something she didn’t know was still there.

When he touched her cheek as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, another slow wave of heat trembled through her.

She tried to focus. “Can I . . . give you a lift back to town in the morning? We’re headed to the community center again, same time as today—”

Before he could answer, she heard another sound, one far less familiar way out here than the call of a wolf. She broke off, head tilted, listening as it came again.

“That sounds like . . . a barking dog.” Her brows knit as she peered toward the sound. “We don’t have any close neighbors . . . much less one with a dog. . . .”

“Sorry—guess I forgot to mention it. Came across a stray in town—a mutt—and brought him back to the cabin. Just
for the night. Hope that’s okay—I plan to take him to the vet tomorrow for a thorough exam and shots, and then drop him at the shelter. That is . . .” He smiled into her eyes. “Unless you tell me you and those kids want him?”

Annabelle loved dogs, but she was forced to shake her head. “Megan’s afraid of dogs. Even little tiny ones. I’d like to change that, but until I do, I really can’t bring one into the house. She’d absolutely freak out. Sorry.”

“Maybe there’s a way to get her past that.”

“I wish, but I’m not so sure. I suppose we could try. . . .” Her voice was soft with doubt.

Wes lingered on the porch another moment. His gaze locked with hers. “About that lift—I’m planning to get some work done in the cabin first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll find a ride to town later.”

She nodded, and he took the steps two at a time, then suddenly turned and sprang back up onto the porch, right in front of her.

“Just wondering—what’s for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Scrambled eggs and biscuits.” A quick smile curved her lips. “You’re welcome to come inside and join us if you’d like so your eggs don’t get cold.”

“Nah, don’t want to cause you any extra work. Biscuits and coffee left on the porch will do fine.”

Yet still he lingered, gazing down at her as if reluctant for this crazy evening to end. For a moment she thought he might kiss her again, and for an even crazier moment she thought about raising up on her tiptoes and kissing him first, but then it was too late, because he brushed a thumb gently down her cheek, turned, and ambled down the steps.

He set off along the dark rocky path to the cabin without another word. And without looking back.

She watched him go, a sense of disappointment filling her. He walked swiftly, making little sound in the night, which was astonishing for such a big man. She waited until
he disappeared over the ridge that sloped down toward the cabin. It was too dark to even make out the shape of the cabin beyond the ridge or to hear any sound except the crickets chirping up a storm. Even the dog had stopped barking. The night was silent.

She might have been alone in the world.

But she didn’t feel alone.

Stepping inside, she locked the door. To her surprise, she didn’t think at all about Clay or Tobe or anything that had happened in the Double Cross Bar and Grill. She ran up the stairs and thought about how Wes had touched her, kissed her, looked at her, and again felt that electric shiver of heat.

You know better,
she told herself as she kicked off her shoes, pulled on a peach-colored cotton sleep tee, and glanced at herself in the mirror.
Things with men never work out. Not for you. Pretend it didn’t happen and try not to want it to happen again.

But she did want it to happen again. She loved the way Wes kissed her, the way he made her heart race. She loved the way he tasted and the easy way he moved, and the feel of his hard body pressed close to hers.

And the way he’d stood up for her . . .

She wasn’t used to anyone but her girlfriends doing that.

She tried to talk herself out of it as she opened her bedroom window a few inches, letting the fresh, nippy breeze slip in. Sinking into bed, she did her best not to think about Wes.

She noticed that the dog hadn’t barked again. Peace had settled into the darkness. But she didn’t feel particularly peaceful.

He’d been back in town only a few days, but she wanted to feel Wes McPhee’s arms around her again. Wanted his hot, searching mouth on her lips, and his tongue doing that sexy dance with hers.

She wanted . . . Oh, no, she wanted way too many things,
all of them involving wild, endless sex with Wes. But that wasn’t a good idea. Not at all.

Punching her pillow, she turned over, the blankets twisting as she stared at the ceiling. Whatever attraction there was between them, no matter how searing hot it might seem, she had to fight it. She could do that. And she would.

But as an owl hooted at the stars overhead, and the old bones of the house creaked pleasantly around her, she fell asleep still trying to come up with a battle plan that would save her from herself.

“Run out to the car, guys—quickly. I’ll be there in a minute!”

Annabelle had pushed herself out of bed fifteen minutes earlier today and woke the kids up a little earlier, too, so they wouldn’t be so rushed. Somehow, though, she was still racing the clock and trying not to be late for class.

Today the girls started their art program at the community center and Ethan had basketball camp, and she was teaching teen and adult ballet and contemporary dance all morning. She had to get going, but she really wanted to load the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and clean the table where Michelle had spilled some blackberry jam. She’d thought of sending Ethan down the dirt road to make sure Wes hadn’t changed his mind and wanted a ride to town to get his truck, but in the hustle and bustle of getting everyone up and moving, she hadn’t remembered to do it.

“Buckle yourselves in,” she called as the girls—in
matching pink shorts and white T-shirts with a single pink heart in the center—rushed past her out the door. “I’ll be right there.”

Ethan bounded out behind them, apparently determined to reach the car first.

The screen door had barely slammed behind him before she heard a high-pitched scream that made her spin away from the counter and dart outside.

Her heart flew into her throat as a million dangers crowded into her mind. She thought of coyotes and foxes and snakes . . . of that wolf she’d heard last night somehow wandering down their lane . . .

But she skidded to a stop, her eyes widening as she saw . . .

A dog.

An excited, medium-sized black and white dog whose tail was wagging furiously as Ethan and Michelle knelt on the ground petting him.

“Hi, Treasure!” Ethan nuzzled the dog happily, and Michelle kissed the top of his scruffy head. But Megan stood frozen on the garden path, the bones of her small face clenched with fear and her brown eyes wide as pansies.

Oh God
. Annabelle sprinted toward her. “Megan, honey, don’t be scared. It’s okay.”

Dropping to her knees, she clasped the little girl’s hand. “This dog is friendly. See? Look how nice he is—he’s giving Michelle and Ethan lots of kisses—look.”

But Megan clutched her hand tightly, refusing to look at the dog who was licking her brother and sister repeatedly, as if they were long-lost friends.

“Aunt Annabelle, I wanna go back inside.”

“Megan, I know you’re scared. But let’s just get you in the car, okay? Then I’ll finish up in the kitchen for one minute and we’ll be off to class.”

“If I move, he’ll chase me,” the girl whispered. She clutched Annabelle’s hand more tightly. Her terrified gaze
locked on the dog, who was happily jumping all around Ethan and Michelle, silly and eager to play.

“He won’t hurt you. He’s friendly—don’t you see?”

Her little tomboy niece, the girl who was fearless when it came to climbing to the tops of trees and jungle gyms, who loved catching lightning bugs, and wanted more than anything to sign up for softball in the fall, was trembling, and though Annabelle had never been afraid of dogs, she knew Megan’s fear was all too real.

Something we’ll have to work on soon,
she realized, making a mental note. But right now, she was pretty sure she’d left the water running in the kitchen sink and they were almost certainly going to be late for class. Again.

Luckily the director of the community center happened to be her best friend. If it was anyone but Charlotte, she might be out on her butt. . . .

The dog suddenly became aware of the two of them, and raced eagerly over, his stump of a tail wagging furiously, tongue hanging out. Megan screamed, shrinking against Annabelle. Even as Annabelle scooped the seven-year-old into her arms, she heard a long, low whistle.

Then Wes’s calm, authoritative voice.

“Hey, boy. Over here. Got a treat for you.”

The mutt stopped in its tracks, skidding like a cartoon dog, and the next thing Annabelle knew, the animal was loping joyously toward Wes, who happened to look insanely sexy today. His long legs were encased in snug, faded Levi’s and his black polo shirt clearly revealed the bulge of rock-hard biceps.

Annabelle tore her gaze from him, focusing instead on the mutt, who almost daintily closed his mouth around the dog biscuit Wes fed him, being very careful not to bite.

Still, Megan clung to Annabelle’s neck, shaking with fear and pleading. “I want to go inside. Aunt Annabelle, take me inside!”

“Sorry about this.” Wes’s concerned gaze flicked to the little girl in the ball cap. “He ran off while I was getting the ladder set up to check the roof. Guess I should’ve had him on a lead.”

And then he strode toward Megan, speaking in the gentlest, calmest tone Annabelle had ever heard from him. “I’m real sorry he got loose and scared you, honey. He’s a friendly dog, though—he won’t hurt you. This big guy wouldn’t bite a flea, much less a ladybug.”

He frowned as she buried her face in Annabelle’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to be out here near that dog,” Megan whispered, her voice breaking.

“That’s okay, Megan; you don’t have to be.” Annabelle carried her to the Jeep, calling out to the other kids to get in and buckle up.

Slamming the door so the mutt wouldn’t be able to jump into the backseat with them, she sprinted back toward the house, past both Wes and the dog. Turned off the water in the sink, glanced around at the breakfast dishes, took ten seconds to scrub the blackberry jam from the table.

The rest of the cleanup would have to wait. They were already much too late.

Rushing back outside, she found Wes on the porch and the dog wandering excitedly around the front yard, sniffing and investigating.

“There’s some poppy seed muffins and coffee over there,” she told him quickly, pointing to the small patio table in the corner with a covered wicker basket, a small coffeepot, and a very big mug sitting atop it.

“Thanks. Sorry again he got loose. I’ll put him on a lead next time.”

“You’re keeping him?” She stopped short at the bottom of the steps.

“Not planning to, but . . .” He eyed the dog, still
unhealthily gaunt, despite the bowl of dog food he’d gobbled down last night and another this morning. “He thinks he adopted me yesterday in town, and I don’t want to dump him in a shelter without first trying to find him a home. Is that a problem?”

“No . . . I guess not. Not if you keep him by the cabin.” She started toward the car, trying her best not to think about all the kissing they’d done last night. “I love dogs and Ethan begs me all the time to let him get one, but Megan had a bad experience once. A friend’s puppy nipped her on the chin and she’s terrified of being bitten again. I just don’t want her to be afraid to go outside the house.”

“I promise, he won’t be around for more than another day or two, max.”

Even distracted by everything about him and in a hurry, Annabelle realized that the idea of taking the dog to a shelter was a last resort for big, tough Wes McPhee.

“That should be okay. I hope you find someone to take him.” She paused a moment to smile at him before climbing into the car, then found herself flushing absurdly as all the memories of Wes holding her and kissing her last night flooded back. She felt warm all over and it sure wasn’t from the tepid morning sun.

“Gotta go,” she called lamely through the open window, and put the car into gear.

You’re a dork,
she told herself.
A dork who’s dangerously close to getting hung up on another man. The wrong man. A man who’ll be gone before the summer is half-done.

He lifted a hand, his quick, unexpected grin lighting his face in an impossibly attractive way. “Catch you later.”

Driving up Sunflower Lane, she peered back through her rearview mirror, pondering what those last words meant. Did he mean he’d see her later, or did he mean he’d catch her later, as if he was going to catch her in his arms again? Maybe even kiss her?

Her heart gave a crazy little jump. What was wrong with her? This wasn’t a good idea. She shouldn’t even be thinking about getting involved with him on any level other than landlord and tenant.

Unless it’s something totally casual and I don’t make too much of it,
she thought instantly. But it had never been in her nature to have casual flings with men, or the kind of breezy short-term relationships some of her friends had managed with ease back in Philly.

But a man like Wes could tempt a woman to change her ways.

No strings, no heartbreak. Wasn’t that how those things were supposed to work?

As she neared the end of the drive, she glanced in the rearview mirror again and saw him pluck a muffin from the basket. He took a bite, then broke off some more, feeding it to the dog.

For a tough guy, Wes McPhee definitely had a soft heart.

She had only that one brief glimpse of him before she turned the corner, but it was definitely enough to whet her appetite.

For him? For . . . what? She didn’t know exactly.

It was like a dance not yet choreographed. You make up the steps as you go along, try them out . . . see what happens . . .

In all her years of training she’d learned she was good at choreography. Good at chassés, pliés, and grand jetés.

But up until now, she’d never been good at keeping her heart in check.

Something told her it was time to improvise.